


I Wanna Hold Your Hand

by ChapstickJunkie



Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mild Gore, Period-Typical Homophobia, Violence, and I like soft fics, and the second devons are hungry for hand content, i don't know how to tag i'm sorry, i'm just soft, its stabby time, premarital hand holding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:34:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23616829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChapstickJunkie/pseuds/ChapstickJunkie
Summary: Five times Blake and Schofield held hands plus one because I'm soft
Relationships: Tom Blake/William Schofield
Comments: 26
Kudos: 153





	1. Shelling

**Author's Note:**

> Hello to the 2nd Devons! It was their thirst for Schofield's hands that inspired this fic. But seriously though, you guys are awesome :)

Tom Blake had always imagined that bombs would sound like thunder. Far off and echoing, a guttural rumble pouring from the lips of the clouds.  
  
He was wrong.  
  
The explosions of the German shells that rained down on the 8th in their trench had none of the dignity of thunder. This noise was invasive. Ripping through Tom’s bones in the same way they ripped through the earth of the trenches. Leaving him with a ringing in his ears that swallowed up his heartbeat. 

Tom whimpered as a shell struck the dirt a few yards off, mud and grit raining down onto his helmet. His knuckles whitened around his rifle where he hugged it to his chest.  
  
Another explosion.  
  
Tom hunched into himself, pushing his body further into the trench wall as though he could burrow into the dirt like a rabbit, and just wait out this entire wretched war. 

Beside him, Lance Corporal Schofield sat silently. His bowed head the only sign that this day was more violent than any of the others. His face tucked protectively into the neck of his sweater.  
  
Rumors circulated around the man. That the Somme had broken him, taken the very soul out of him. And they were right, as far as Tom was concerned. He hadn’t seen the man mutter so much as a word outside of delivering orders to his men. On his third day at the camp, Tom had stopped Schofield as he passed the mess tent, asking him if he wanted to join the men for a round of cards. Schofield had only stared at Tom for a long beat before continuing into the dark without a word, settling into his spot beneath the tree at the edge of the camp.  
  
  
Tom started after him only to be stopped by one of the other men, “Don’t bother with him.” The soldier nodded back at Schofield, “He’s been gone since the Somme, shell shock.” 

  


Another explosion rattled the ground besides Tom, forcing him back to the present. He hadn’t quite understood shell shock then, how a man could become quite so empty, but he understood it now. The artillery had only been pounding at their stretch of the trench for a few hours now, but Tom felt as if it had been lifetimes. His memories of home, of his mother and Myrtle and the cherry trees felt distant. As though he had known nothing but smoke filled skies and the stench of blood and rot his entire life. As though it was all he would ever know. Cursed to die in the trenches hundreds of miles away from anyone who actually cared.  
  
Tom sniffled at the thought, hot tears pricking at his eyes. He was NOT going to cry. He was a soldier for god's sake, and a grown man.  
  
Down the line another shell struck the trench and Tom jumped, tears escaping his eyes at last. Tom prayed that the brim of his helmet covered his eyes as he dug one hand into the dirt beside him, trying to steady himself.  
  
He felt something brush his hand, and his first thought was of those bastard rats back again, but then a soft warmth grazed the back of his knuckles before encasing his muddy hand. Tom glanced up in surprise as Schofields hand protectively covered his own.  
  
Schofields gaze stayed pinned to the ground between his feet, making no indication that he had even moved.  
  
Tom opened his mouth in confusion but before he could speak a shell exploded into the ground behind him, spraying him and Schofield in debris. Flinching back, Tom felt Schofields hand tighten around his, grounding him even as the world around them fell to bits. With a shuddering breath, Tom turned his hand over to properly intertwine his fingers with Schofields. His hands were large, yet soft despite the labor of war and Tom's hand fit perfectly, safely, within Schofields. 

  


As the shells rained down and the screams of men came and went, Tom grasped Schofields hand like a lifeline, at some points worrying he was hurting the other man. But each time Schofield only responded by squeezing back, quietly reassuring the young soldier through the press of their palms. Their heartbeats drummed down to their fingers, a frantic beat of life, life, life in a place of endless death. 

An explosion down the line. A scream cut short. Tom's shaky breath rattling in his lungs. 

Schofields hand. 

Life. Life. Life.


	2. Immoral and Unnatural

“Water, he needs water.” Tom watched Schofield grapple with himself, wanting to protect Tom, but unable to say no to him.  
  
Clenching his jaw, Schofield turned away to a pump on the other side of the yard. 

  


Tom glanced back down to the German pilot in his lap. Blood and ash were smeared across his face, his eyes were wild and unfocused, as though he were unaware of what was happening. The man groaned in German and heaved his chest upwards, arms straining as though he meant to stand up, hands grappling at his uniform. Tom placed a gentle hand on the man's chest. If he stands now he’ll only collapse again. With a cry, the pilot reaches to his hip and Tom only has a heartbeat to ponder the glint of steel before pain overtakes his world. Pain sharp and strong and deep within his side. Too deep. With a cry Tom staggers to his feet. He hears Schofield fire two shots into the chest of the German pilot but the sound seems far away. Tom’s entire world has narrowed into the sting in his side and the blood seeping through his fingers. “Bastard, bloody bastard.”  
  
“Tom?”  
  
Tom hears Schofields panicked cry as he pulls open his uniform and his world falls apart.

  


\---------------------

“Schofield,” Tom mumbled, was the man still there? He felt someone holding him. A glimmer of light dances before his eyes, than another. Like golden snow falling beautiful around him. “What are they?” Wonder creeps into his voice, and it’s such a disturbing change of tone that Schofield sits dumbly for a second.  
  
“They’re embers, the barn is on fire.”  
  
“Oh,” Tom sighs sadly. “Schofield.”  
  
“Yes, Tom.”  
  
“Am I dying?” Tom whimpered. He didn’t want to die, oh god he didn’t want to die.  
  
“Yes, I think so.” Schofields voice cracked, pressing harder at the wound on Tom's side.  
  
“Will you write my mum for me, tell her I wasn’t scared.” Tom felt hot tears prick at his eyes.  
  
Schofield nodded, turning away to bury his sob in his shoulder.  
  
“Schofield,” Tom hummed, simply wanting to taste the man’s name in his mouth again.  
  
Schofield only sniffed in response.  
  
“Hey,” Tom shifted with effort, pain paralysing his side as he reached up with a bloody hand to touch Schofield’s face. “Look at me, please.” Tom curled his fingers to delicately cup the man’s cheek, ignoring the streaks of red he left behind.  
  
Schofield shook his head, choosing instead to stare down at their overlapping hands.Taking a shuddering breath he intertwined his fingers with Tom’s, squeezing his hand tightly like the day the first truly met. “Tom, I-” The man cuts himself off, finally meeting Tom’s eyes. “I will find your brother.”  
  
Tom nods, though the task feels far away. He allows his thumb to trace the delicate ridge of Schofield’s cheekbone, attempting to memorize the man’s face. He opens his mouth as if to speak and Schofield leans closer, closer still, until their foreheads are nearly touching. 

  


“Oi!” 

  


Schofield yanks his head up out of Tom’s hand and the man groans in pain. 

Two soldiers trample over. One of them is marked with a medics red cross. 

“Please, please, oh god. He’s been stabbed…”  
  
Tom distantly hears Schofield pleading for help, but the sound is no longer alarming. A soft warmth has begun to fog his mind and the pain in his side is fading fast. Tom leans into it, the comforting darkness. The rabbit hole he’s wished he had. No war. No bombs. Just quiet, peaceful dark.  
  
The last thing he hears is Schofields panicked screams before the darkness washes over him entirely.

Darkness.

The flash of a voice.  
Fingertips across his temple.

A woman's voice.  
“Fever.”

A low response.

Darkness.

Light. 

Violently pulling him to the surface, past it. Heaving through his sickly lungs, forcing out the stale air in his blood. Pushing through his mouth until he was retching blood and bile and whatever else was in his stomach.  
  
“Hey, hey” A soft voice sent spikes of pain through Tom’s head. He groaned as gentle hands pushed him back down. He was in a bed. Was this heaven? He’d always imagined it smelling less like...death.  
  
“Nurse!” The voice loudly calls out above him.  
  
Tom’s head feels crushed in. Every heartbeat rickochets madly through his skull leaving behind an echo of pain. He feels the darkness pushing back in at the edges of his consciousness. Yes, he welcomes it, reaches for it. No more pain. Please.  
  
But someone is shaking his shoulders and Tom wants to scream, stop it, stop it please! But all that comes out is a whimper of agony.  
  
“I’m sorry Tom, but you have to stay awake.” The voice apologies. The hands on his shoulders slide down his arms until they are holding his hands like a lover. “Just stay with me.”

  


Things move quickly after that. 

  


A nurse arrives. Then another. They peel off Tom’s shirt, soaked with sweat from fever and gingerly begin untying the bloody bandages holding his midsection together. Tom risks a glance down as they carefully clean around his stitches and his stomach surges with nausea. Dried blood and infection mar his entire right side. Through the center of it all a jagged wound bleeds angrily. Tom cries out pitifully as the nurses redress both he and the stab wound. Through it all gentle hands press his shoulders down to the bed, occasionally coming up to brush Tom’s hair from his feverish forehead.  
  
The nurses depart in a flurry of dirty white skirts, leaving Tom behind, exhausted and traumatized, but awake for the first time in weeks.  
  
The gentle hand withdrew from Tom’s hair and he turned his head to chase after the familiar touch.  
  
“Schofield?”  
  
“There you are.” He smiles softly, blue eyes lighting up lovingly.  
  
“Schofield, the mission, my brother.” Tom rambled deliriously, trying to sit up.  
  
“All okay. I made it to the Devons. Everyone’s alright. Even you.” Schofield moved closer, taking Tom’s hands into his own. “ I thought I had lost you.”  
  
“I’m here now.” Tom’s mouth feels like it’s stuffed with cotton. He winces and Schofield carefully passes him a cup.  
  
“I know.” Schofield agrees, “but you almost weren’t.” Schofield pauses uncomfortably, and Tom can see the conflict in his face. Schofield pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, as though he can create a physical barrier to keep in his words.  
  
“Tom, I must confess to you.” Schofield won’t meet his eyes now, speaking as though every word leaves his mouth without permission. “You are dear to me. More than you could know.”  
  
“Scho, I, too, am endeared by your presence. You are my closest friend.” Tom responds, slightly confused by Schofield’s suddenly nervous demeanor.  
  
“No, Tom. More than that. My fondness for you arrives in...immoral and unnatural forms.” Schofields voice wavers, and he carefully detaches his hands from Tom’s. “I fancy you.”  
  
“Oh.” Tom’s quiet voice isn’t enough to fill the sudden space between them.  
  
“I apologize for the inconvenience this confession certainly brings.” Schofield collects himself, his attempts at professionalism ruined by the tears gathering in his eyes. “I only hope you might be so merciful as to not report me to our commanding officers. But should you choose to, I shall make no move to stop you.” Schofield nodded, glancing over his shoulder towards the exit of the medical tent. “I will send a nurse to look after you.” The man stands to leave. “Goodbye, Thomas.” Will turns away and it takes a long second for Tom to collect his senses.  
  
“William Schofield.”  
  
Will turns back sadly.  
  
“How dare you leave me now. In all my misery.”  
  
Will’s mouth opens in confusion.  
  
“If you are even half the gentleman you pretend to be, you’d know just how rude it is to leave behind those you love to wallow in their sadness alone.” Tom gestures to the chair besides his bed, “Now please come back and sit down. I need someone to hold my hands, preferably in a very immoral and unnatural way.”

  


And that moment, in the middle of the medical tent, surrounded by death and agony and all the misery mankind could fathom, was one of the happiest of William Schofield’s life.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually have an outline now so... yay for me!
> 
> I love how many people are excited to read this, I've never really shared a lot of my writing before, so it's crazy to write something and then have people actually read it. wack.


	3. It's Almost Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will comes home.

-1918-

Tom fidgeted as the train station began to clear, nervously spinning the ring on his finger. A familiar flash of color catches his eye on the sleeve of a passing stranger; the 8th. “Excuse me, sir?” 

The soldier pays him half mind, attention captured by the young woman occupying the space in his arms, happily pressing kisses to his face. “Eh?”

“Do you know a Lance Corporal Schofield? William? He’s tall, blonde-ish-”

“Nah, nah,” The man waved him aside as his lover tugged him towards the doors of the station.

Tom swallowed the lump growing in his throat. The crowd was thinning considerably, and even as he stood on his tiptoes he could catch no glimpse of his lover's familiar figure. Soldiers emptied from the station, leaving behind families, searching desperately for their missing loved one. 

Tom watched as a young boy clumsily hopped off the train. The color and cut of his clothing looked like a juvenile version of a British uniform. A messenger. The heads of anxious family members turned in tandem as the boy headed towards the station office, pulling a messy stack of paper slips from his bag. Letters of Condolences. Brothers, sons, fathers, husbands, lovers, who would never step off the train. 

Tom felt his chest tighten. Turning away he rushed across the station platform. Will must be here. Somewhere. There were too many shoulders. Too many men in similar dress. They all looked the same now, faces blurring together. There wasn’t enough air to breathe, only the pushing bodies of soldiers and women and children and their shouts and cries occupying the space where oxygen ought to be.

Where Will ought to be.

Tom’s hands tremble as he pushes through the throng of soldiers, staggering into the empty end of the station. Golden light shines through the tall yellow windows, illuminating the dust that has swept up into the air, until they glow like embers from the barn. Creating the ethereal outline of a man against the dirty glass.

“Will.” The name falls from Tom’s lips with the delicacy of a prayer.

The man turns slowly, heavily, as Tom rushes towards him. 

A sob threatens to escape from Tom’s lungs at the sight of his lover’s face. 

Will slowly raises his eyes, something distant within them. 

“Will?” 

The man raised his hands slowly, bringing them to cradle Tom’s face. There is an indescribable emotion buried in his face. Something haunted, deep within his mind. 

“You’re alright.” Tom whispers, “You’re home now.”

Will nods, dropping his head to the crook of Tom's neck. 

They stand like that, in the dying light of the train station, for a long, long time. 

Will comes home.

The event is quiet. The man leaning into Tom for support as they make their way to their tiny cottage. He doesn’t speak a word, even as Tom opens the door and they solemnly step into the hall. Tom hurries around the small home, turning up the lamps, ready to apologize for the size and shape of the place. It was the best he could afford with the small sum of money the army had gifted him at his honorable discharge. Jobs were hard to come by for wounded veterans. I promise I’m working towards something nicer. Tom turned back to Will and his excuses fell short in his mouth. 

Will stands reflected in the mirror on the wall. Looking like the antique portrait of a soldier within its tarnished frame. Tom watches nervously as Will’s eyes take in his war torn figure. The bullet holes patched over on his arms. The blood permanently staining the leather. The filth that gathered itself into every crease of his hands. The scar running gently along his cheek. 

Will stares at it for a long beat. Reaches towards it, in the mirror, before he catches sight of his hands. 

There is blood under his fingernails. 

Tom doubts it is Will’s own. 

Will turns his hands over, gazing down at them with the same unreadable expression he wore at the station. Tom worries his lip as Will’s shoulders begin to shake. Tears fall slowly into his palms.

“Will…” Tom carefully approaches him, curling an arm around the man’s too thin body. He needn’t have worried.

Will sinks into him, twisting his body to better fit inside his embrace. Leaning into Tom as though his body is too heavy to stand on its own.

Tom wished he could pour his strength into Will. Could just let it bleed from his fingertips into Will’s tired bones until the man stood tall again. Of all the strength he had, Tom would give it all. 

Will clings to Tom the whole night. As they move around the small kitchen, as they fold Will’s uniform away into a box below the stairs, (“Let’s burn it.”, Will whispers. “We can, another day.”) as Tom guides Will into their tiny shared bedroom. 

“I can sleep in the living room, if it’s all too much.” he offers awkwardly.

“Of course not,” Will laughs gently, “I’ve waited over a year to be besides you again, I don’t think I could bear another night.”

Tom smiles in relief, cuddling into Will’s waiting arms. He’s missed this, so much so, he didn’t even realize the extent of it until now.

Sleep comes easy that night. It’s the first time. 

Tom hummed softly in his sleep, reaching out for Will, ready to cuddle into his lover’s neck. Instead his hand fell into the empty space besides him. A Will shaped space. Panic floods his chest, waking him immediately. His eyes frantically search the room, tension visibly leaving his shoulders when he spots the sliver of golden light creeping in under the door. Tom pads into the kitchen to find Will leaning in the doorway, a cup of tea tucked in his hand as he gazed out at the cherry trees.

“Will?” Tom sleepily crept up behind the taller man, slinging his arms lazily around his waist and tucking his chin into Will’s sweater-clad shoulder. Will’s beauty was easy to appreciate from this angle, his sculpted profile accentuated by the pale moonlight, his soulful eyes looking even deeper in it’s dappled beams. “You alright, love?”

Will swallows, glancing down at his tea. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Tom hums in acknowledgement. 

“Not tired, I suppose.”

Tom smiled sadly, he knows by now when Will is lying. “You have bags under your eyes, darling.” 

“I’m afraid I’ll wake up back there. And I can’t-” His voice cracks. “I can’t do that.”

Silence falls over the pair. 

“It’s almost morning.” Tom comments.

Will nods blankly.

“Would you like to see something beautiful?”

“Please.”

Tom laced his fingers through Will’s, guiding him through the dimly lit orchard. The long grass soaks the cuff of his pants with dew, and for a moment he is transported back; to a river bank, wrought with corpses, death’s cold hand offering to pull him out of the water eternally. Tom’s hand tightens in his, pulling him forward, back to the present, up a gently sloping hill towards the rising sun. 

“Just look at it.” Tom’s voice is laced with awe as he pulls Will from the shadow of trees.  
  
Will’s breath catches in his throat. The light of the rising sun beams through the orchard, igniting the translucent petals of the cherry blossoms and turning them gold. The sight was ethereal. Will had almost forgotten beauty. But now, something stirred within him, something he had been missing since the first shot of the Somme, something he hadn’t seen again until he met Tom, something that infiltrated every ounce of their love. Hope.

“You will never wake up there again.” 

Will nods, still gazing out at the orchard.

“Hey, look at me.” Tom directs, turning Will’s jaw to face him, “I promise to you, you will never wake up there again." The golden light has moved into Tom’s eyes, shining around his head like a halo. He looks angelic in this light. Like a savior, come to take Will by the hands and cleanse him of all the things he’s done. 

Will nods dumbly, love threatening to burst from every part of his being. Poets have said there are no words, but in this moment, truly, there are no words. Only Will’s mouth, moving of its own accord, and Tom’s rising up to meet it. Only the gentle press of their lips against each other, unhurried and unhidden for the first time. Only the golden light of the rising sun painting their interwoven hands as Tom kisses his strength into Will, and Will kisses his hope into Tom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I haven't been as active as I said I would be. My graduation has been moved online because of the pandemic, and somehow I've been placed in charge of the entirety of baccalaureate because I'm the only one who knows video editing. (sigh) 
> 
> I know this chapter isn't as polished as my other ones, but I really wanted to upload. Online learning has been kicking my ass lately, and I am beyond stressed, but knowing that there are people out there who enjoy reading my work makes my days a thousand percent better.
> 
> Being able to write for you guys has been this little sliver of purpose that keeps me going from week to week. For so long this site has been a huge destresser for me, so finally publishing my own work onto it feels like this little thank you gift I can give back to a hugely supportive community.
> 
> I can't promise frequent uploads to either one of my fics for the next week or so, but I have so many ideas roughed out, and will hopefully be back before we know it.


	4. I'd Never Ask For Anything More

Tom buried his face in Will’s shoulder, breathing in the smell of the other man’s cologne. It was a luxury sacrificed in the war, no room for something like that between bullets and meager rations. It was a whole piece of the other man that Tom never got to meet, until now. Now it seemed their lives were built out of things they hadn’t known. 

Like the way Will always wore ties, even just around the house.

The way he liked his coffee with more milk than sugar. 

The way he would bring home bouquets of Wildflowers, always blushing as he passed them off to Tom.

The way he would put on his jazz records and twirl Tom around until he was dizzy. “Dancing is for the living,” he would say, “Death can’t touch something so full of life.”

Tom liked life. It suited them.

Like it did now, as they gently swayed in the dimmed lights of the living room. Golden light traced outlines on Wills shoulders and ran to his arms, wrapped firmly around Tom. Things were good. They were good in ways that Tom had never known, never dreamed of. Life was more than something he lived now, simply survived in, it was a gift, a joy to have and hold. It was Will. Tom felt a soft smile blush across his face as he turned to bury it in Will’s neck. 

The older man glanced down, pulling back to look at him. Stilling in his movements.

“Will,” Tom whined at the lack of contact, “Why’d you stop?”

Will stared down at him for a long beat. Tom felt stripped down under his gaze, defenseless to anything Will could ask of him. The man’s eyes were filled with something, many things, too many to separate and define. Except for one; love. Pure adoration. The weight of it settling on Tom without burden. Pinning him in place as Will looks down, taking his hands. 

“Marry me.”

Tom laughs, taken aback, “What?”

“Tom.” Will cuts himself off and his face wavers like it did that day on the mission, and for a second Tom is afraid he won’t speak again.

But something has shifted in Will’s face, as though he had decided this declaration was more important than whatever turmoil was within him. “You saved me in that war.” Will grazes his thumbs over the man’s knuckles in quiet worship, “I didn’t realize the world I lived in was so devoid of color until you came to saturate it. I didn’t understand how people could take joy from simply existing. I didn’t understand why I woke up every morning. I didn’t understand why that war left me alive. 

I didn’t understand anything.” 

You gave me life. And you give me life still.” Will lifts his head from Tom's hands to stare into his eyes. Something raw shines in his eyes, as though every wall Will had ever built was torn down and the purest form of his soul had stepped forward and placed itself into Tom's hands.

Tom felt his breath hitch in his throat.

“Thomas Blake. I love you. Please marry me.” 

“Will…” Tom's vision blurs with tears, “you know we can’t. This world…our love…they’d kill us for it.”

“I know,” Will brings a hand up to cup his face, thumb brushing away the tears that escape down his cheeks, eyes glowing with something honest and impassioned, “but say that you’ll love me forever, and I’d never ask for anything more.” 

“I will,” Tom cries softly. “always.” 

“I have something for you.” Will takes his hands gently, leading him up the crooked stairs and into their bedroom. He releases Tom's hands for a moment to pull open their chest of drawers, digging into the back of it. Will pulled out a small box, dropping to one knee in front of Tom. “I wanted to propose to you in the orchard, in the spring, when the cherries blossomed, but I couldn’t wait any longer.” He popped open the box to reveal a simple gold ring. “I know we can’t get married in a church. But I have a friend, a priest, like us in the way he loves. He offered to marry us in the eyes of the lord, if you will have me.”

“Yes, oh my god, yes,” Tom's eyes fill again with tears, “I would marry you a thousand times over.” 

“Well hopefully the first one sticks,” Will laughs, sliding the ring onto Tom’s finger.

“You bastard,” Tom laughs with him through his tears, pulling Will to his feet. He pulls the man down by his tie until their mouths are only a breath apart, “You’re lucky I love you.”

“I really am.” Will replies as he closes the distance between them. 

Will’s kisses are like him, heavy and honest, wonderfully skilled in the noises they take from Tom’s mouth.

And Tom lets him take, melting into the ecstasy of it as he wraps his arms around the neck of his boyfriend, no, his fiance.

Will's kisses turn deeper as he dips down, pulling at the back of Tom’s thighs. Tom moans in agreement, wrapping his legs around Will's strong torso as the man lifts him. Pushing frantic kisses into the mouth of his lover as Will carries him to their bed. 

“Please, Will,” he begs as the man leaves his mouth, trailing kisses down his neck as he unbuttoned Tom’s shirt.

“Please what?” Tom can hear the smirk in his voice as he pushes his shirt off his shoulders.

“Please anything.” Tom nearly cries as Will pops the button on his trousers. “Just touch me.”

It isn’t long after that that Tom loses all coherence, chanting Will’s name like a prayer. The prayer that saved him from the trenches. From the German pilot and his knife. From the whole bloody war. Lifting him up and out of danger and leaving him safe and beloved in the bed of his fiance, limbs woven together in the afterglow of their love.

“When we get married,” Tom mumbles into Will’s shoulder, “can we have cake?” 

“Darling,” Will laughs, pulling the man further on top of him so he can gaze at Tom with pure adoration. “You can have all the cake in the world.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've been away from this one for so long, I promise I have plans to finish it, but I have a list of AU's a mile long and I keep getting distracted. 
> 
> As always, extra love to the 2nd Devons! <3


	5. I Love You, Forever

The boards of the front porch creaked under Will’s rocking chair, swaying more from the wind than from the force of the man’s body. Cherry blossoms snowed onto the scuffed up paint of the boards, carrying their sweet smell with them. 

“It’ll be time to pick them again before we know it,” Tom eased himself out from behind the screen door, Tea balanced in one hand, cane clutched heavily in the other. “You reckon we could pay the neighbor boys to pick ‘em again? Lord knows we’re too old to.”

Will nodded softly, content with simply watching the petals fall. This was the life he was dreamed of, back in the trenches, though he’d never have admitted it then. A small cottage, tucked into the french countryside, a little orchard of cherry trees, Tom, settled down besides him. 

“I remember when Joe and I used to get stuck pickin’ them all for Mum,” Tom smiles at the memory, reciting it as though he’s mentioned it a thousand times before, and he might have. Will knew Tom’s memory wasn’t all that it used to be, though Tom would never admit it. But Will lets him recount the tale again, just to see the same smile he fell in love with grow across his husband’s face. 

Will reaches across the arm of his chair to take Tom’s hand within his own. Tom squeezes his hand back tightly and they turn to look out over the fields. Some new rock song plays quietly on the radio, at a tempo just a bit too fast for their hearts to keep up with. 

But it doesn’t matter, not to Will. The peace of his life is something he never thought he’d have, and it’s beautiful. He had never found beauty in simplicity before this but now, now he could look upon every sunny afternoon like it were Van Gogh. Slow walks in the orchard like they were Rembrandt. Tom’s lazy smile as they washed dishes like it were Monet. He had always loved Monet the most.

Tom stretched out his legs beside him, wincing slightly and bringing a hand to his side.

Will frowned, “Is your old injury giving you trouble again?”

Tom laughed, rubbing his side, “This thing’s been giving me trouble for the last fifty years.”

Will's face doesn’t change, eyes filled with gentle concern until Tom relents under his gaze. 

“Yes.” Tom admits, gaze shifting down to their interwoven hands. “It has, a bit more than usual.”

Will sighs in understanding. He, too, had his own share of leftover injuries. Little touches of the war that never really left them, even after all this time.

“It’s nothing bad, though.” Tom shifts closer to Will. “Nothing to be concerned about.”

“You know I’ll worry anyway,” Will relaxed back into the view of their orchard.

‘I know, love.” Tom laughed gently, “It’s what you do best.”

Will hummed in response, too in love to be bothered. 

Tom held Will’s hand a little tighter, “I love you forever.” 

“I’d never ask for anything more.” Will responds, sensing Tom’s smile at the completion of the phrase.

“I mean it,” Something in Tom’s voice wavers as he turns to watch the sun setting behind the cherry blossoms, “even when all this ends, I’ll love you forever, whatever happens next, wherever we end up.”

Will turns to place a kiss on Tom’s temple. “Thank you, love.”

Tom smiles sadly as they watch the sun disappear, warm beams pulling their heat from the Earth as they go. If Will had it his way, they would live in the twilight, in the simple beauty between times. Settled in the warmth of the dying sun, lying beneath skies painted by an artist far greater than themselves.

William Schofield dies in the Autumn of 1964.

He leaves everything he has to his long term housemate, Thomas Blake. 

They bury him under the cherry trees.

\-----------------------

“Cherries are gonna be ripe soon.” Tom laughs tiredly. “Don’t even know if I plan on picking them this year. Might just let the stones all rot, leave a whole orchard behind.” The wind blows gently through his hair and Tom feels it wrap around his ears. “I know, I know.” 

He wanders through the trees, just letting the sun rest on his face. “Just not much sense in picking them all if I haven’t got anyone to share them with. We both know you were the only one of us that could cook.”

The wind blows a bit softer at that, wrapping around Tom’s wrists as he settles under their favorite tree, the one at the top of the ridge, where they shared their first kiss after coming home together. The sun was setting behind him, casting pink light through the blossoms as the shadows started their steady advance up the hill. 

Tom sighs gently, weaving his fingers through the young blades of grass. “I can feel you worrying still.” He smiles sadly, “I’d say it’s what you did best, but you were better at a lot of things.” 

The wind pushes at his forehead and Tom lets his head fall back to rest against the cool marble of the headstone behind him. He lets the summer breeze curl around him, sliding under his palms and through his fingers. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t bury you with your medals.” Tom's words come slowly, there’s no need for anything else, “I didn’t think you would want them. You never liked them at all. Your sister made a right fuss, though.” Tom laughs gently and the breeze seems to laugh with him, raining cherry blossom onto his lap. “I won out in the end. They all knew that I know you best.” 

The orchard falls silent as Tom toys with the blades of grass. The sky is falling dark now, and the cold of night has begun to settle upon the land. The summer breeze uses the last of its energy to pull Tom against the strong expanse of stone, feeling, for a moment, like the arms of his lover, pulling Tom against his broad chest. 

“I love you forever.” Tom murmurs, and he doesn’t need to look to remember the response carved in the stone below Will’s name;

I’d never ask for anything more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little detail extra that didn't make the final draft, "Say that you'll love me forever and I'd never ask for anything more" was Will's proposal to Tom, and was later used in their wedding vows. Eventually the phrase became their little reminder of love to each other. With Tom always promising his love to Will, like he did at their wedding, and Will always promising it was all he would ever need. 
> 
> "I love you forever." 
> 
> "I'd never ask for anything more"
> 
> We're almost at the end boys...I think this is my favorite fic I've written so far.


	6. It's Perfect

Time passes that Tom doesn’t care to count. The ache in his side grows steadily worse, pushing it’s pain through his chest and into his lungs until they run ragged, coughs shaking his body like the shells once did. Running in red lines and splitting up his throat. Twisting inward from the scar in his side, until the German pilot finally finished the job he started so many years ago. 

—————————————

The sky is blue. 

Tom is breathless for a moment at the beauty of it. He had never been one to stop and admire his surroundings, that had been Will’s job. But now, he let himself lay, mesmerized by the clouds as they rolled overhead. 

“Lovely, isn’t it?” Came a voice from beside him. A voice Tom had only dreamt of hearing again. 

“Will!” Tom choked on a sob as he sat up, looking over to see his husband laying next to him on the grass. 

A smile stretched across Will’s face, even as his eyes grew misty. 

Tom squeaked in excitement as he tackled the other man, pushing back for a second to drink in the sight of his love. 

Will looked young, early twenties, the way he had when they had met. But the bruises, the scars, the dark circles beneath his eyes, had all disappeared. Tom grasped at Will’s left hand, running his fingers over the unblemished flesh, before looking back at Will in awe. 

Will smiled, nodding his head down at Tom’s stomach. 

Tom glances down, shocked for a moment to see the strong body of his youth. With trembling hands he lifted the hem of his shirt, pulling it back to reveal...nothing. 

There was no scar, no stab wound, nothing. Only the undisturbed skin of his abdomen, rising and falling with his breath. 

“Will…” Tom breathed out, “what is this?”

“I don’t know,” Will admits, “only that I’ve been waiting here, for you.”

Tom feels a cry fall from his lips as he closes the distance between them, kissing Will with everything he has. Muscle memory kicking in as he relearned the taste of Will’s mouth. Tom pulled himself to sit in Will’s lap, clinging to his husband with everything he had. Determined to never let go of him again. 

Will broke the kiss, leaning back and laughing when Tom followed after him to pepper kisses across his face. Will cupped a gentle hand around Tom’s face, voice growing soft, “This is the forever I talked about.” 

Tom choked on a quiet sob, melting into his husband’s embrace. “I love you.”

Wil pressed a kiss to Tom’s forehead. “I love you, too.”

Tom shifted closer to bury his face in Will’s neck, sliding a hand up his lover's chest to rest on his beating heart. “I missed you so much.”

Will tightened his grip, sting arms pulling the man to his broad chest. “I’m never leaving again.”

Tom turns his head on Will’s shoulder to look out at the landscape. The cherry trees of their orchard are spread out beneath them, the silhouette of their cottage cut out in the distance. They’re in their favorite spot, he realizes, the place Will was buried. The place I was buried, a quiet part of his mind supplies. 

He snuggles deeper into Will’s chest at the thought, his husband rubbing circles into his back in response. 

“This is our forever.” Tom reiterates, sitting back to look into Will’s deep blue eyes. 

Will smiles, eyes crinkling up at the corners. “Is that alright, love?” 

Tom grins, reaching for Will’s hand and lacing their fingers together. “It’s perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end! I had so much fun writing this, and I hope you all enjoyed it as much as I did!
> 
> Although I'll miss this fic, I have so many others I'm excited to work on! If you're in the 2nd Devon's you know just how long our AU's list is lmao
> 
> If you want to be a little more sad, Tom and Will were buried side by side beneath their favorite cherry tree. Each gravestone is carved with a hand, reaching for the other, and inscribed with their phrase. 
> 
> "I love you forever."
> 
> "I'd never ask for anything more."


End file.
